


A Mighty Stranger

by Inky_Pens



Category: Shadow and Bone (TV), The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Desk Sex, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Praise Kink, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship, mal who
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29123025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky_Pens/pseuds/Inky_Pens
Summary: Alina Starkov stumbles into the wrong class and meets Professor Morozova for a private lesson.
Relationships: The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova & Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov
Comments: 15
Kudos: 146





	A Mighty Stranger

Punctuality was not a skill she honed early enough. She was perpetually late, no matter the alarms or expedited morning routines that she employed to prevent it. Somehow, five minutes became 15, became 30, and before she knew it, an hour had passed and she hadn’t so much as put in her contacts.

This is how she wound up with her white-blond hair piled on top of her head, held in place by a rose gold French pin that she stole from her infinitely more fashionable, more punctual, more “Alina, a 10-minute shower is not a shower. It’s a rinse.” roommate, stumbling into the lecture hall of her 8 A.M. class at 8:10. 

Unfortunately, and because mortification always cut deeper on days she didn’t start with coffee, the lecture was fully underway, even though it was class one, day one of the Spring semester. 

The professor, who had not yet noticed her entrance, continued to read aloud, but the words were lost on her when he came into full view as she rounded the corner of the entrance hall.

If she had been paying attention to anything other than his posture against the table--one leg crossed over the other in a casual lean that exuded confidence and command of the audience--she may have been better prepared for what was about to happen. As it were, her eyes made a slow ascent over his deep brown lace-up boots, up the length of his black tailored trousers, flitting to his belt buckle, trying hard not to stare at the Oxford shirt that hugged his torso, lingering on the clean stubble of his jaw for a beat too long, and finally meeting his eyes.

Eyes that were currently regarding her with cool annoyance. 

“Class began ten minutes ago.”

“I’m so sorry, Professor,” Alina stammered under the weight of his glare. “This is my first time in this building, and I-I got lost along the way.” He looked unamused and unswayed by her nervous apology. “It won’t happen again, sir,” she finished lamely.

The awkward silence extended another 30 seconds before he finally released her with a flick of his eyes towards the chairs and back to her. She took the unspoken signal with quiet gratitude and averted her eyes to her feet as she took the stairs up to the last row of chairs. 

He seemed to wait for her to get to her seat, and the anxiety of his silence amplified her self-consciousness in the most remarkably dumb way: Alina squeezed past not one, not two or three, but five people in the row until she was at the expanse of a empty seats just off-center. She could feel people watching her in confusion or annoyance, or maybe it was awe that anyone could turn that red without needing emergency medical assistance. 

The lecture resumed as Alina grabbed a notebook and pen from her bag, and then the next awful thing happened. 

“‘--and that is not because he’s handsome, but because he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.’ We often confuse themes with motifs, but in British literature, the distinction is…”

Alina’s eyes went wide, a tiny whimper caught in her throat. She didn’t sign up for British literature. She _hated_ British literature, or at the very least, thought it too self-righteous to study for four years. Every minute she sat here was another wasted minute from the class she should be in, but disrupting him again was inconceivable. Though it wasn’t like she would be coming back once out of here, and she was paying too much money for this school to sit in the wrong class only to be cowed by a guy with a stick up his ass.

 _Okay. Deep breath. Quietly pack your things. No sudden movements. Except when you stand up and make the walk of shame back out_.

The drop of her pen into her tote might as well have been a basketball falling from the ceiling. The professor looked up and immediately found her, as though on instinct. 

“Is there a problem, Miss…?”

“Alina,” she answered automatically. “And no, Professor. I mean, yes, but not with you. It’s just that I, uhm, I’m in the wrong class.” Mortification burned through her as students seated below began craning their necks to watch the idiot who should strongly consider switching majors at this point. “I’m supposed to be in American Lit, post-18th century. So I’ll just be going now, sorry. Excuse me.”

She took several clumsy steps over classmates’ bags, shuffling across knees and aware of her ass in everyone’s faces as she maneuvered awkwardly out of the row and down the stairs. Snickers and sighs bounced off the walls hit her like physical blows.

“Something wrong with British literature, Miss Alina?”

“Just Alina,” she corrected, “and no, sir. I just prefer American.”

“Ah. Well, you’re young. British literature requires a certain maturity to appreciate.”

Alina knew bait when she found it, and the argument was one she’d had before, but the motor control between her brain and mouth did not exist this early. Again she blamed the lack of coffee. “You’re right, Professor. I do think you must either be old or pretentious to appreciate the redundant stuffy classics that no one is managing to say anything new about.” She said it quietly enough so as to not offend all the eager lit majors in the audience, but he did not extend the same courtesy when he growled, “My office. 5PM. I trust you’ll find it more easily than you did your first class this morning. It’s the door with “Department Chair” written on it.”

Alina grit her teeth to stave off the roil of nausea through her stomach. Maybe she was rude, possibly offensive, but he started it. Shouldn’t a Department Chair be fair and unbiased anyway? Without another word, Alina left for the door, proud of her feet for not stumbling once when he said “Oh, and Alina? Plan to be accessible in our meeting, yes?”

\----

Alina was back-to-back for the rest of the day but blessedly received coffee in her 10AM courtesy of Tolya and two croissants at 3PM from his sister Tamar. She rushed back to her dorm for a quick shower and change of clothes. Genya poked and prodded her for nearly 10 full minutes before Alina spilled the Department Chair was asking to meet with her over a “schedule issue” that occurred this morning. 

Genya gave her an unnecessary once-over, chewed on her words a bit, then launched into a monologue on appearance, presentation, and “you are so hot but your skirts are so long” complaint that was easier to go along with than argue against the merits of maxi skirts and boho chic. 

Genya would have ignored her anyway. She was already lost in their shared closet, rifling through both sides to assemble an outfit deemed appropriate. It was 4:30.

“Genya, I need to be there at 5, and it’ll take me at least 20 minutes to walk there.”

Genya came out with an armful of clothes dropped on her bed. Alina immediately bristled. 

“This is not a pageant.”

“No,” her roommate argued, “it’s a seduction. Whatever you did to land your ass in a meeting with the Department Chair on the first day of your Spring semester as a freshman needs serious remedy so he doesn’t make these next four years miserable for you. If he doesn’t like your taste in literature, at least he’ll like my taste in clothes.”

Another minute gone. Alina glanced nervously at the clock and dove into the pile, pulling out the goldenrod cable knit cardigan that she thrifted last year--it was tight in the bodice, but the cropped length hit her at her waist, necessitating bottoms to tuck it into. She chose a skirt of Genya’s, black and A-line, hitting just above her knee. The slight pinup look was a favorite departure from her creature comfort look, and it would hopefully earn her some extra credit from a surly professor .

“Nude heels,” Genya insisted.

“I’m not walking across campus in the dead of winter in heels.”

“They call them Uggs for a reason, Alina.”

There were not further arguments as Alina dug for black booties underneath her bed. Her coat and bag were held out for her, and somehow, it was 4:45, and Alina was sprinting out of her dorm and begging any god to keep her upright while she hauled ass back to the Humanities building.

When she arrived at his door, it was 5:03. She had half a mind to turn around and send an email with a lame excuse. While she debated it, the door swung open, and Department Chair, Professor Aleksander Morozova, wore a look of anger so striking that she was rendered dumb. Or at least mute. 

“Four minutes late.”

“Three,” she countered. Definitely dumb. “I was just unsure if I was going to stay.”

Professor Morozova ushered her into his office. It was modest but blessedly warm. A large wooden desk, almost ornate in appearance, sat in the center of the room, Behind it, a wall of built-in shelves crowded with books. She liked that observation--she might have expected meticulous organization with every book in its proper place, alphabetized, like a performative library meant to impress guests but nothing else. Instead, these shelves looked lived in. Tidy, but well-used. The room was lit by two lamps, and the only other furniture were a leather desk chair and a wingback accent chair. The vibe felt dangerously cozy.

“Could I take your coat and bag?”

Because the office was so small, when she spun around, she was face-to-face with the professor. Except it was more like face-to-chest. He was at least a foot taller than her, crowding her easily.

Alina complied, removing her outerwear and setting her tote down on the floor next to her chair. She was close enough to notice how he winced at whatever he deemed offensive by the action.

“That’s a Saint Laurent,” he commented.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “It was an impractical gift that I have to use practically. The carpet in here looks clean enough.”

He regarded her with a glint in his eyes. “Miss Starkov, have you ever been spanked for your smart mouth before?”

If the abruptness of his blunt question surprised her, and it did, she didn’t show it. This was a game, and Alina wasn’t much into games, but she could play along if it meant proving herself. 

“Did you call me in here to ask inappropriate questions as retaliation for interrupting your class today?”

The professor stepped into her personal space, mouth quirked into a smirk that he wore deliciously well. 

“I think this excites you,” he challenged. The warm breath fanned her face. He smelled like tea and mint. “I think you are slick with excitement.”

Maybe the most embarrassing thing to happen to her today was not going to be stumbling in the wrong classroom. Maybe it was going to be melting into the carpet beneath her, ruining her expensive bag, and never showing her face on campus again.

By some miracle, her voice was steady and even in her response. “Not sure what makes you think that, Professor.”

His arm looped around her waist, and he held her there in the space that it took her to agree to give herself to this seduction, as if she ever stood a chance. As if what happened this morning was not a fluke, but the beginning of something promising more. The tension was a violin string, pulled taut between them and ready to be stroked. He could play her masterfully, she was sure of it, but not before he tested her strength with a little plucking.

With one hand, he cupped the side of her face, fingertips stroking the shell of her ear, while his other hand gathered up her skirt. His had slipped under, teasing the inside of her thigh. It was the right magic to part her legs on their own accord, her body fully taking over where her good sense did not. One of his fingers tapped lightly at her slit. 

“Accessible,” he murmured against her lips. “Good girl.”

The ground beneath her gave out, but she barely noticed because he’d held her tightly to him. His hand firmly grabbed her ass and squeezed as if he was holding on, too.

“You did not answer the question. Have you--” his hand slipped back down between her legs to cup her, pulling her up flush to his body, “been spanked,” his knuckle brushed against her clit, “for your smart mouth?” The tip of his finger circled her entrance, and by god if she didn’t almost pass out from the ache of wanting.

He must have gleaned the answer from the way her lips parted for a breathless gasp.

The smirk was nothing short of sinful, nothing less exhilarating than addictive. “Would you like to be again?”

She didn’t respond right away--couldn’t--while her brain tried wrapping around what was shaping up to be the most erotic moment of her life thus far. 

Sex with Mal had been sweet and friendly, but not passionate. Not like this, where she felt the edges of what she’d always thought were her limits being teased, tickled into expanding wider into the unknown. Maybe what was missing from her sex life was something rough and senseless. No girl-next-door, “should I leave my socks on or is that unsexy?” nervous giggle. She could barely _think_ with Professor Morozova, _Aleksander_ , standing over her like this. He loomed, both physically and in his presence. He was twice her size and felt just as demanding in his instructions to meet here, this time, skirt, no underwear, accessible. Vulnerable.

She’d never felt more powerful. 

His hand traveled along her ribs and caressed her breast gently with only the softest squeeze. Her mouth opened for a sound, a response, but whatever it was caught the moment his fingers closed around her throat. At first, his hand just lay there in nothing more than a hold, and there was a strange comfort in the weight of it. If she jerked her head back, she would be free of him. Instead, her fingertips ghosted along his forearm that lay resting on her chest where beneath it her heart was pounding a furious rhythm he had to have felt. She wrapped her small hand around his wrist and squeezed--just barely, and perhaps unnoticeable to anyone else, but not to him. He seemed to notice _everything_ about her. 

It started with the pads of his fingers digging into the side of her neck while his thumb stroked her jaw. Good god, his hand was big, and there was no doubt that if Aleksander was unfamiliar with this, he could seriously hurt her. As it was, he was entirely comfortable and confident in this position, and he squeezed with a firm, practiced pressure to the sides of her neck, guiding her chin up so he could look down into her eyes when he said, “Answer me, kotyonok.”

She was momentarily surprised by what felt like an endearment, even if she wasn’t sure of its meaning. He added more pressure to the choke, a reminder that he was waiting for her. 

“Yes,” she answered, and though he didn’t tell her, too, somehow she knew what he wanted to hear. “Yes, sir.”

There was no way she imagined his eyes getting darker.

“Stick out your tongue.”

She complied quickly, and he rewarded her just as quickly with a lick to her tongue and another few swipes as he danced over her open mouth with his own, not caring for the mess he was making of her. His lips closed around hers, searing a kiss to her mouth that left her dizzy with want. 

Aleksander turned her around and leaned her across his desk. The expanse of wood was cold against her thin wool cardigan, a vintage piece that spoke more to fashion than form because despite her lace bra, the material chafed against her skin the second her tits pressed into the hard surface.

If there was any indication that he was as affected as her, she could hear it in the rough silk of his tone. “Palms flat on the desk.” 

The slow slide of her hands along the desktop, taking papers with her, sent a shiver down her spine. Then another shiver, this time from the chill of Aleksander lifting her skirt above her hips. Her ass was on full display and no underwear to obscure his view of her cunt. She thought she might be wet already, but it was hard to focus on anything but the mounting anticipation.

“Let’s see, Miss Starkov. You were late to your first class this morning, then interrupted mine, then disrespected me on your departure, and you were four minutes late to our scheduled appointment. That makes a count of seven.”

She looked over her shoulder to watch him roll the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows. “First I am going to punish you for that mouth, and if you take it like a good girl, I will reward you for it. Ready?”

After one fortifying breath, she gave him the signal. “Yes, sir.”

The first slap hit the round of her cheek with a sharp sting. He alternated each side, and so, too, alternated between roughly grabbing her ass or rubbing it soothingly after each count. By the time he made it to seven, she was biting her fist to keep from crying out. Or begging for more. 

She expected him to take her then, parted her legs in anticipation for it. But instead he chuckled and pulled her up so she was back to his front. “No, not yet, sweet. You did so well.”

Aleksander unbuttoned her sweater just enough to expose her bra, pulling her tits free of it. He palmed her breasts, pinching the nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Her ass stung, but she rubbed it against his belt anyway. “Professor, please.”

“Walk over to the door and face me.”

On unsteady feet, she crossed in no more than three steps, back to the door, waiting for him. She watched him remove his belt, slide it from the loops and drop it to the floor with a clang. Next the button of his pants, the slow slide of his zipper like music to her ears. 

“Arms above your head.”

Alina lifted her arms, the position pulling her breasts up and out of her half-opened cardigan. Aleksander approached her in two strides, pinning her wrists to the door. “Now drop to the balls of your feet. I’ll catch you.”

Alina slid down the length of the door with Aleksander supporting her by the wrists to keep her from falling. Her ass rested against the heels of her boots and her toes were keeping her tall enough for her mouth to be level with his crotch. 

“Do you want your reward?” he asked from above. 

She looked up, pleased to find the strain of his clenched jaw despite his light tone. Then again, maybe nothing about Professor Morozova was light.

He held her wrists together in one hand, pulled himself out with the other. On instinct, Alina opened her mouth and held out her tongue, ready for him. The head of his cock tapped gently against the flat of her tongue, maybe the only gentle she would get, because he was just as eager for her to wrap her lips around him as she was. She dragged him through her mouth, bobbing her head towards him until her nose touched his thumb while he held the base of his cock for her, then back towards the tip until the back of her head thudded against the door. She moved slowly at first, adjusting to his size, but it wasn’t long before he took over, fucking her mouth amidst her moans. Both hands held her up by her wrists now, leaving her to gag on the length of him as he hit the back of her throat again and again. 

She thought he would finish this way, and it would be a reward to watch him lose herself in her, even if it meant she went home to finish herself off, but just when she thought he was too far gone to stop, he did just that. He pulled out of her mouth, taking a trail of spit with him. Both were breathing hard and fast, otherwise still in their respective positions. He pulled her up to him, mouth crashing to hers in a starved frenzy.

She just barely made out the word “desk” between kisses, but suddenly she was lifted off her feet, legs closing around his waist as he walked back to the impressive desk. He had just seated her on the edge when she grabbed his cock and placed him inside of her. He started them off with her clung to him, but she wanted to see his face, wanted to watch the moment he realized he was so utterly gone for the woman beneath him. 

Her heels dug into the small of his back and she lowered herself onto his desk, back against the surface had since gone cold again. Her hair fanned around her head, and he looked at her in awe, his face scrunched with the effort of keeping it together just long enough for her to tip over first. Alina grabbed at her breasts, held them as they bounced every time his hips snapped against her.

She tried to be quiet, she really did, but the moment her mouth opened to say his name, her breath left her body on a series of swears and moans that she could not stop. Aleksander moved her ankles to his shoulders and held onto her thighs while he fucked her into near oblivion, and it was up to her to finish them both off by rubbing circles on her swollen clit with shaking fingers until she came, spectacularly and splendidly, with enough goddamn sense to cover her mouth so she could scream into her palm.

She was still in a state of freefall when he flipped her over and pounded into her pliant body, riding wave after wave of the orgasm that did not let up until he was coming, too. His groan was guttural between her shoulder blades, and ropes of spend were hot and slick inside of her, seemingly endless until finally he collapsed on top of her. How he had enough strength to hold his body weight on his forearms to avoid crushing her to his desk was only proof that this man was a fucking _god_ at sex.

A few moments later, their breathing returned to normal, sweat cooling despite the earlier warmth in the room, and she felt Aleksander chuckle against her back.

“You were ‘lost in the building’, were you?” he asked with mirth. “You practically lived in this building last semester.”

She giggled and shrugged her shoulders as best she could with his body still pressed to hers. “To be fair, you _did_ change classrooms. Botkin was in there last year. Besides, it was the best excuse I could think of on the spot. And,” she turned her head to press her lips to his shoulder, “I missed this desk. We were cooped up in your apartment over the entire winter break.”

“There’s always your dorm…” he suggested for the hundredth time. 

“We’ve tried that. Twice. And we’ve nearly been caught. Twice.”

“Pretty sure your roommate knows you’re fucking someone, love. You leave here walking funny.”

“Aleksander Morozova, I do not!” She shoved an elbow to his ribs without causing any real damage.

His laugh rumbled from his chest to hers. A different kind of warmth spread through her.

“Sometimes, yes. Either because you’re sore or desperately trying to keep me from leaking out of you.”

Alina grimaced then, remembering that she was sans underwear and had an evening class to get to soon. “Speaking of, could you hand me a Kleenex, please?”

“Oh, _now_ you want to use manners?”

Her eyes began to roll, but she caught herself before he caught her. Still, he had an uncanny ability to sense these things, and he swatted her ass again as he rose off her. In a picture-perfect display of coquettishness, she batted her eyes at him and lifted a foot behind her. “Professor Morozova, may I please trouble you for a tissue so I may clean myself of my boyfriend’s come that is sure to be leaking down my legs any second now, you see, because the man is inhuman and fills me to the brim every time he--”

He thrust the Kleenex in her face. “Take the tissue, you brat.”

“Could you do it, please? I mean it, I think if I so much as cough, it will drip down my legs, and then I’ll really be late to Latin. And that classroom is small, so anyone within a ten foot radius will be able to smell all the illicit sex I’ve been having with the hot as fuck English Department Chair.”

He cleaned her up, lifting her to her feet to right herself the remainder of the way. 

“What time are you out of class?” he asked quietly. She turned to find him standing with his hands in his pockets, seemingly the picture of cool and casual, despite the undercurrent she heard in his tone. 

Alina wrapped her arms around his waist and was pleased when he wrapped his around her. “9. I have a few assignments I need to start on to get ahead for the week, so if you’re still here, I can stop by on my way back.”

“I’ll wait for you.” It was a loaded promise. 

She tilted her head all the way back to place her chin on his chest, and he pressed a kiss to her lips, then her forehead. “Go on now. My mother will be furious if you are late to your first class with her.”

She kissed him again, then retrieved her coat from the rack and was buttoning it up when he handed her her bag. “This is a designer bag, you know,” he scolded without any real bite.

She smiled, taking the bag from him and hugging it to her chest. “I know. I told you it was too expensive.” 

Aleksander shrugged, not willing to have another pointless argument. “I’ll see you later.”

She left his office, grateful that the hall was empty when she stepped into it. As she made her exit, the sound of his laugh echoed on the walls. Alina cringed but laughed, too.

With a turn on her heel to look at him, she insisted, “Okay, _this_ time,” as she wiggled her posture to relieve the ache between her legs and the lingering sting on her ass, “does _not_ count!”


End file.
